


fifty words for murder, and i'm every one of them

by acrossdarkspace



Series: don't threaten me with a good time [1]
Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Alec may not be the best father but he loves his kids dammit, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Ryder, Default Ryders, Gen, I have taken many liberties with biotics, Pre-Mass Effect: Andromeda, Scott has a potty mouth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2018-12-12 19:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrossdarkspace/pseuds/acrossdarkspace
Summary: A lie, a truth, and a decision.Scott should probably come with a warning label.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, no second read through, written while at work. Enjoy! XD
> 
> Titles in this series will be from Panic At The Disco songs.
> 
> Mentions of violence and assassination, and more tags will probably be added later.

The target leaves the restaurant after his business meeting with laughter and a smile, and the shadow that has been watching him for the past several hours readies itself to follow. It cuts the nearly invisible low level biotic field it had been generating and drops the few dozen feet to the ground from its vantage point halfway up the neighboring building, its tactical cloak keeping it hidden from sight and another small biotic field letting it land lightly on its feet. A quick visual scan to confirm trajectory and it darts off after its target, steps silent and quick as it moves through the foot traffic after the man.

There are enough possible witnesses in the area that the shadow makes sure to keep a small distance away from the target and an eye on its cloak charge. The orders said no witnesses, no disturbance, no evidence. It will have to trail him further. So it does. It follows him through the streets, past storefronts and homes, through the tourist area to the front a large and extravagant hotel. There it pauses, tucked up against some landscaped shrubbery and at ease in the fading light of dusk, and calls up the hotel's floor plan on its omnitool.

The shadow had overheard the target's discussion hours earlier with the asari he had met, mentioning the penthouse specifically, and had reasoned that was where the target was staying for the duration of the business trip. If not, it would be no trouble to hack the hotel's records and discover the correct room. With the ease of several dozen similar missions under its belt, it plots its path to the penthouse, noting security and alarms along the way, and then hesitates for a moment. This is almost too easy, easy enough to trip the bullshit warning the shadow had spent its entire life perfecting.

There's nothing to do about it, however, except continue forward. Another small biotic field shifts the way its weight is being pulled just enough to let it scale the side of the building. It's the work of minutes before the shadow is at the row of windows that mark the penthouse's bedroom, a hacking program already running on its omnitool and bypassing through the hotel's security. With a faint whisper of cloth, the shadow squeezes through the window and lands on its toes, deactivating its cloak to charge. It’s easy enough to hide in the darkened room and it’ll need the cloak later.

A noise at the door sends the shadow deeper in the darkest corner of the room, half hidden by the floor to ceiling curtains and paired arm chairs. The target doesn’t even bother with the lights as he comes in, just drops his suit jacket over the nearest chair and heads straight for the mini bar and takes out some sort of alcoholic drink, and the shadow feels its disbelief grow as its bullshit warning goes off again. The shadow had been told its target was a high ranking Alliance officer selling security secrets, but upon entering a room an Alliance officer would at least give the room a quick once over.

The unsettled feeling only grows as the target drains half the bottle in one go, never even feeling the shadow’s eyes on his back. Something isn’t right, but the shadow’s only choice is to continue with the mission. It slips forward silently, readying its biotics. A quick push, a hard fall, a broken neck that looks like an accident with no evidence to point otherwise. Child’s play.

Except the target turns as the last possible second. His eyes widen, his half full bottle drops to the carpeted floor with a muffled clunk, and he stumbles backward and falls. This is not a trained military officer, and the shadow knows it’s been lied to. But it can’t leave the target alive. So it steps forward.

Hours later in another hotel room a few miles away the shadow strips its clothes off, carefully folding and rolling them until they can fit into the small bag that it then shoves to the bottom of its duffel bag. It drops both to the tiled floor of the bathroom, then turns to the mirror and stares itself down.

The shadow looks away, gripping the sides of the sink and exhaling sharply...

...and Scott Ryder looks back up, disgust twisting his features as he lets go of the calm and impersonal head space he uses for assassinations. 

The Alliance promised him that they would use his skills for the good and protection of humanity so that if he had to kill it would be for a damn good reason. Instead, they used him for money.

The after mission debrief the Alliance subjects him to a few days later on Arcturus is a joke, and both he and his commanding officer know it. This mission was not the assassination of a military officer selling secrets, it was an assassination of a businessman of a multi-billion credit company who had made key business decisions that were not in favor of a few Alliance admirals. They had used him like a junkyard dog, and had thought him as stupid as said dog not to figure it out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upped the chapter count.

They give him a two week leave, starting immediately. Scott thinks it’s a pretty shitty buy off but knows better than to say anything. He was barely hanging on to his career as it was, ever since his father's AI work came to light. He wasn’t going to rock the boat now, especially after the hits he had already taken professionally. 

First of his class out of officer training, rigorous combat and tech training, recommendation for the N7 program and then first of the class for that, highly specialized biotics training both from human and alien alike; all of it wasted by his father’s selfishness. All of that time and dedication, only to now be the Alliance’s dirty little secret attack dog. All his training and accomplishments either wiped or classified, his file now reading as if he were nothing more than an idiot private fresh from basic. It would be ironic if it didn’t piss him off so much. So much respect and esteem lost in a single generation. 

Scott lays back on his bunk with a sigh, idly swinging his leg off the side. The only perk left to him was his single occupancy room, but even that wasn’t for his benefit. It would be hard to explain his odd absences and sometimes injuries to a roommate who thought he was nothing more than a regular serviceman. The Alliance liked to have their trained dog able to come and go at their whim. 

His omnitool going off distracted him from the dark turn his thoughts had taken him. Lifting his arm, orange light blinking into existence, he saw that the communication code was his sister’s. A message, not a call. He sighs and pulls up the holographic screen with a flick of his fingers, dreading and hopeful in equal measure. He loves his sister, but she allowed the wool to be pulled over her eyes far too easily, always convinced of the good in people. Especially their father. 

The message is both to the point and yet wandering at the same time, somehow. It goes from gushing about the ‘Andromeda Initiative’ and the opportunities she’ll be getting, to complaining about their father, to demanding that they meet up face to face before she leaves, to pleading for him to join her. He sighs again and throws his head back into his pillow with a huff of frustration. He wanted to see her, he really did, but she could be so _annoying_ at times. But she was also right, they hadn’t seen each other in a while, and if she was going to be throwing her life away on a bullshit one way trip he should at least try to spend time with her before she went. 

A soft chirp signals an incoming call from an unknown person, and before Scott can swipe to reject it the omnitool opens the channel. 

“Hello, Staff Lieutenant Ryder. I have a proposition for someone of your talents.” The image showing the person on the other side of the call is obviously a fabrication, shifting from species to species every few seconds though the voice remains feminine, and Scott finds his interest piqued even as his alarm builds. He hadn’t accepted the communication, which means whoever this was had forced his omnitool to open the channel. They had known his actual rank, not the rank of his public file, and the mention of ‘talents’ worried him. 

“How did you get this ‘code?” he demands, wary, and sits up so that his back is against the wall. 

“The same way anyone gets anything,” the shifting image replies, tone even. 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Scott snaps back, “Who are you and what do you want?” 

“I am many things to many people, but in this instance you could say I am a benefactor.” 

“How very cloak and dagger,” Scott sneers back, flicking up a small program on the underside of his omnitool. It should take only the work of moments to either close the channel or trace it back to its source, but several seconds later the program stalls out. Which should be impossible, as Scott wrote the programing himself and knows its capabilities. 

“I have ensured that this channel will remain both open and untraceable until I choose to close it, so you may stop fiddling with whatever it is you are and pay attention to what I am saying,” the figure, now a turian, informs him coolly. “As for what I want, I want insurance. And I think that you are the best person to provide me that insurance.” 

Scott snorts, even as he admits defeat and closes the tracking program. “Insurance for… what? Home, vehicle, spaceship? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a soldier not an insurance agent.” 

“No, you are whatever you need to be in whatever situation you find yourself in, and that is a very rare talent few people have, and even fewer have mastered like you have.” The figure seems to study him for a moment, then continues. “I have need of someone of that talent, and the varied but specialized training you have as well. I-- ” 

“Well, as interesting as that is,” Scott cuts them off, “I have no need of a creepy stalker offering me creepy… offers.” 

Not his best line, he thinks to himself as he disconnects the omnitool’s power source. But the mention of his training had startled him, as most of said training had been retconned from his file at the insistence of his higher ups. Whoever that had been, they knew things that they shouldn’t. 

Rather than dwell on it he gets off his bed and heads for the door, pulling the omnitool off his wrist and dropping it on his pillow as he went. He’d worry and deal with its breach of security later. Right now he has to find a communications terminal and message his sister, which will be a whole new level of gritting his teeth. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only tag characters that are actually in the story, as opposed to every character that gets mentioned, so I will be adding character tags as I go. I would add them all now, but I'm not actually sure who all is going to be showing up. XD
> 
> Also, I'm halfway to the expected word count and will probably have to up the chapter count again... what kind of monster have I created? o.O
> 
> And now for some dialogue!

The Presidium is gorgeous, as always. The sunlight, air, breeze, the entire day completely artificial but still beautiful. Everything is the same as when he was a child, and Scott muses on the nature of change as he sits in the open air cafe, watching people go by and the artificial winds rustle the decorative plant life. The Citadel is truly unchanging. Or stagnant. Stagnant works, too. For all that the Council preaches ingenuity and innovation, they are extremely set in their ways and it shows. Over a decade later, but he could be a child again sitting here.

He yawns and stretches, then glares at his empty coffee cup. If Sarah was going to make him meet her here at this hour and completely screw his plans to sleep in the least she could do is buy him more coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

"You look like a zombie," a voice as familiar as his own laughs at him, and his sister drops into the seat across from him.

"Mmmmm, caffeine," Scott moans in his best B rated zombie vid voice, and shoves his cup over. "More."

Sarah gives him a once over, the snorts, "You've been military since you were eighteen and still can't be awake and aware at a decent hour? Seriously? It's almost oh-nine-hundred."

Scott glares at her. "I'm on Arcturus time, and it's barely oh-five-hundred there. Bite me."

"Cry baby."

"Fuck you. Buy me coffee."

She's laughing openly at him now as she queues up the menu to order him his drink, but his doesn't care. Victory is his, and the spoils of war will be delivered soon. Sweet, caffeine-y spoils.

"So, how have you been?" Sarah sing-songs at him as she orders, flicking through the menu to choose something for herself and finally settling on what seems to be a fancier version of his coffee, then closing the menu. 

Scott glares at her some more. "You seriously did not drag me halfway across the galaxy to ask me how I've been, did you?" It wouldn't be the first time she had done it, but he had wanted to actually rest and relax during his leave, not have his sibling bring more family stress and drama into his little corner of the universe.

"Well, yes and no," Sarah chews her bottom lip briefly, and Scott feels himself tense. He knows his sister's tells, and right now she's being hesitant. Sarah doesn't do hesitant. "It's just that we leave in just under a year and you and dad still aren't--"

"Sarah, dad and I have to deal with our shit ourselves," Scott cuts her off, not unkindly, "And we will deal with it if and when he gets it through his thick skull that I am not, and never will be, a perfect carbon copy of him."

"That's a little harsh, don't you think?" she sits back and raises an eyebrow at him.

"No harsher than he is," Scott counters. He starts to say more, then hesitates as a waitress brings their order over. He nods his thanks to her, then waits until she has walked away to continue. "Dad always expected me to follow in his footsteps and follow every order he gives me, and it pisses him off that I want to go my own way."

"You know he just wants what's best for us, and ever since Mom died--"

"No, Sarah," he cuts her off with a slash of his hand for emphasis. "He doesn't get to use that as an excuse. It's disrespectful to both her and us."

She leans forward again, bracing her elbows against the table, and stares down at her cup. "He loves us, Scott. He just doesn't know how to show it. Or say it."

"I know he does," Scott sighs and rubs tiredly at his face with one hand, "but that doesn't give him the excuse or right to act like a jackass."

Sarah snorts suddenly, shooting him a smug look that conveys a victory. "You would know all about being a jackass, wouldn't you, brother dearest?"

"Well, one of us had to take up the family mantle of assholery," Scott fakes a sniff and wipes away an imaginary tear, "Mom would be so proud."

"Yes, she would," Sarah catches and holds his gaze, suddenly very serious, "She would be so proud of you, Scott."

He coughs and shifts in his seat, uncomfortable from her unexpected switch from joking to such a heavy topic. "So," he says, frantically trying to think of a different subject, any subject, to get away from the current one, "How's that crack pot scheme you're involved with going?"

She, thankfully, lets it go. Sarah was always good at knowing when to push and when to let things slide. Their father could stand to learn a few things from her. "Well, we're starting to finish up the recruiting. Pretty much all that's left for that part is having people tie up their loose ends and begin training for the voyage. Dad's been running nonstop these days. Cora, too."

"How is Cora doing? I haven't seen her since that stupid biotic seminar the Alliance made us both go to," Scott grins into his coffee, "That was a fun night."

Sarah wags her finger disapprovingly at him, "Which part? The part where she verbally flayed a lecturer or the part where you threw a different lecturer into the refreshments table _with your mind_?"

Scott shrugs, "He shouldn't have been running his mouth about things he knew nothing about, then insulting us when we corrected him." A predatory look briefly flashes across his face. "And they were never able to prove that he didn't trip and do it himself." 

She just shakes her head at him, "You know, sometimes I think you're too sneaky for your own good."

"Oh, if you only knew," he snorts, thinking back to all the times he had been sneaky, for both good and ill, "If you only knew." 

She gets serious again, far too quickly. "Dad really does want you in the Initiative. It's all he talks about, well, other than the Initiative."

"Look, I appreciate the fact that he thinks I'm good enough for it, but I'm happy enough here," Scott shakes his head, "And I'm not all that eager to go haring off to an unknown galaxy with no guarantee of succeeding." 

"Oh, that's bullshit, and you know it. You were just complaining that you never get enough adventure a few months ago. Something about wanting to see what's on the other side of the relay, remember? Besides, he seems really worried. He doesn't want to go without you coming, too."

"Or maybe it's just sinking in that he's leaving forever," he snaps, and then is immediately sorry he even opened his mouth when his sister visibly droops, her shoulders hunching inward. 

"So am I, Scott," she says softly, not meeting his eyes. 

"I know, Sarah, I--" he cuts off as the beeping of his omnitool interrupts them. He swears as he reads the 'code, before violently jabbing the accept button on the holographic screen. "What?" he snarls, not caring if he's reprimanded or not. He is on _leave_ , dammit.

His commanding officer just stares silently at him for a long moment, and Scott can _feel_ his blood pressure start to rise before the other man speaks. "Leave's canceled. We need you back on base for a mission, ASAP."

Scott just stares back at him, equal parts pissed and relieved. He has a 'get out of emotional conversation free' card now, but he was supposed to have another entire week of leave. "Are you freaking kidding me?" he finally mutters, knowing full well how close he is treading to disrespectful and not giving a single shit.

Thankfully, his CO seems sympathetic. "Sorry, Ryder, I didn't make the call. See you in a few hours." The channel cuts out, and Scott swallows the sounds of frustration he wants to make. He's in public, after all, and doesn't want to spook the civilians. Much. When he looks up, Sarah is giving him her patented 'I'm disappointed but won't tell you' look and it makes him want to scream. Just once, he'd like to be able to sit down and talk to his twin without it devolving into dramatics or being interrupted.

"Well, duty calls," he tries to force a smile, but knows it's a long way off from what a smile should be, and stands. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Scott," she gives him a sad smile back, and stands as well after tapping on her omnitool to settle the bill. "We'll just have to meet up again when you've got a free moment."

He knows, though, as he walks her to the elevator and hugs her goodbye, that won't be that easy. He has a bad feeling about this mission.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've added a content warning for violence. I wasn't planning on really having violence in this other than in the abstract, but this story has run away from me in the best way possible. I originally planned this to be just a quick character overview of my Ryder and a set up for the series's plot with only a 7k word count and 5 chapters, and now it's this. XD
> 
> Also, with Bioware's announcement that they're no longer updating and supporting ME:A except for multiplayer, I now have much more freedom to write this fic how I want it to go instead of being restricted by how much I want to line up with canon. Seeing as I refuse to buy book and comic tie-ins for what is supposed to be a GAME series, I won't hold any of that kind of content as canon. So let the fun commence.
> 
> I also feel the need to warn you that the main pairing of this series is Scott/Jaal. If that isn't your thing, don't worry. It isn't in this fic at all, and this fic will have a definitive 'end' so it can act as a standalone.
> 
> ...you guys have no idea how many times I spelled Scott as "Scoot" and had to go fix it.

Scott knows, from the moment he steps foot in the room, that this is going to be bad. Half a dozen majors and admirals are seated at a glossy dark table facing him and the door, and his commanding officer is nowhere to be seen. This is what conspiracy stories are made of, usually at the expense of 'expendable' lower ranked marines like himself. He keeps his face carefully blank as he crosses the room to the table and comes to attention in front of it. They watch him impassively for a moment, then the middle admiral speaks.

"Staff Lieutenant Ryder, this is a mission that requires the utmost care and delicacy," it's clear from both his tone and the medals pinned to his chest that he's the ranking officer in the room, so Scott focuses mostly on him, letting the others become part of the backdrop but still passively taking in details from them. It lets him analyze the dynamics between the personnel in the room without being obvious about it, which is a handy skill to have as it tells him that though the admiral is the highest ranking, he is not the one truly in charge of this briefing. Interesting.

"Several hours ago we received intel that a physical drop of hard copy data is to take place sometime in the next few days," the admiral continues, "Due to your expertise and mission record, you were chosen to retrieve this data." The admiral pauses and looks Scott over, seemingly assessing him. "This drop will be from a suspected Shadow Broker agent, so while stealth is the priority, firearms have been authorized for this mission."

A small twitch catches Scott's attention out of the corner of his eye, the smallest tightening of lips and shift of shoulders. A major sits at the end of the table and there's something about him that makes Scott's eyes want to slide past and dismiss him. The man himself is bland and forgettable, and the medals pinned to his uniform's front are just enough to convey seniority without conveying command. This man's entire image is designed for espionage, and Scott's bullshit alarm goes off as he realizes that he could have seen this man in passing several times over and never remembered him once. From there on out his attention is split between the major and the admiral that is still talking.

"A shuttle is being prepped as we speak, it departs within the hour. You will receive further information once aboard," the admiral is saying, "I expect you to be on it before then. It will take you to Illium where the drop is taking place. Your cover is the leave you were pulled early from. Dismissed."

Scott salutes briskly and leaves the room without ever saying a single word, carefully not looking at either his silent CO or the forgettable major that was clearly in charge of the entire meeting. He didn't know if they think him stupid or incompetent to miss the by-play that had been going on, but that was a rabbit hole for another time.

Later he would regret dismissing that train of thought for another time, but now he needs to get his gear signed out and stowed in the shuttle as soon as possible because he was sure 'within the hour' actually means 'in the next twenty minutes'.

It stays in the back of his mind, however, through the shuttle ride to Illium and establishing his cover as he checks into a hotel room. He's used to a level of cloak and dagger but this keeps sticking with him. It makes him cautious as he scouts out the drop area under the guise of playing tourist the next day, browsing through storefronts and haggling with the shopkeeps over trinkets, keeping an eye on the building he will have to break into.

It shouldn’t be too hard, with his training and the amount of prep he’s done. The building itself is some sort of office and lab combo for a tech company, and a small one at that. Scott’s not sure if he’s ever even heard of its name before, which does make it a good place for a drop transaction. Either way, he has the guard rotation memorized and the building schematics downloaded. Now he just has to wait for the agent to make the drop and then steal the data before it can be picked up later. That’ll be the tricky part, as he has no idea how much time he has between drop off and retrieval.

He’s sitting in a bar, making nice with the locals and establishing an alibi, when the spy program he infected the building’s security with pings him an alert. There’s been a small breach in the security systems it’s watching, barely even a few seconds, short enough to not trip the building’s security but enough for Scott to know the drop is being made. So he slurs out a drunken goodbye to the other bar patrons he’s been buying drinks to celebrate his ‘promotion’ (promotion his ass, the Alliance will promote him when Sol goes nova) and stumbles out of the bar, making sure that the security cams catch his seemingly inebriated form. Probably overkill, but better safe than sorry any day.

He sways down the street and into a nearby alley, one with no cameras and several exits, where he drops the act and activates his cloak. He already has all the needed gear with him, with his usual stealth suit underneath his normal clothes and his blades tucked here and there. No gun, regardless of his orders. He doesn't need it. He strips his civilian clothes off and rolls them up before shoving them behind some garbage cans before tugging the hooded headset of the stealth suit up and on. Not the cleanest hiding spot, but it will have to do.

It’s easy enough to slip out of the alley and over to the building in question. The offices he needs are several dozen stories above ground, but thankfully his entry point to only a few stories above his head. He activates his biotics carefully, slowly bringing up the amount of energy until he’s certain his mass is shifted enough to scale the wall. He’s not exactly what someone would call a biotic powerhouse, but he’s found that precision goes a lot farther than brute force and his lower energy output creates less visible light that marks biotics. It’s a quick scramble up to the office he’s marked for his entry and a quick hacking program later he’s swinging through the now open window and landing softly on the carpeting of the room inside. He’s already memorized his route, so he has no need to bring up the building plans as he darts silently toward the elevator. There’s no security to it, so he hits the button for the floor he needs, and it starts its ascent. Slowly. And is that-- crappy elevator music? For fuck’s sake. Scott just about leaps out once it reaches his floor and the doors open. Even the Citadel’s elevators are that annoying.

As he’s rounding the final corner towards the office where the intel should be he almost runs into someone. He catches himself at the last minute, biotics flaring subtly to help him rebalance, and for a minute Scott thinks he might get away with it without the other human realizing that he’s there. But the quickest of glances tells him this isn’t just some lab tech staying late at work but instead a trained operative dressed similar to himself, and maybe it’s the almost invisible glimmer of his cloak or the almost imperceptible hum of his biotics, but the other operative goes for his gun and aims it unerringly at Scott. It’s automatic to knock the gun aside, grabbing the operative’s wrist and slamming it into the wall. He hears a sharp crack and the operative lets go of the weapon with a gasp, and Scott pulls his blade from where it’s sheathed along the small of his back.

He swings for the operative’s neck and leg, aiming to sever a major artery, but the operative dodges the first swipe and grabs Scott’s arm before he can complete the second and then brings up a leg to kick Scott in the stomach, but Scott twists to the side and takes the blow on his upper thigh and hip. The operative is now off balance, so Scott takes the opportunity and sweeps the other human’s legs out from underneath them, then slams his fist towards the other’s head in a biotically enhanced hit but the operative manages to roll away and regain their feet. The operative aims another kick, this time at Scott’s head, so rather than trying to block he detonates his barrier, flinging the operative backwards.

Almost immediately Scott realizes his mistake, as the operative lands and rolls back to their feet with the gun the had managed to grab off the floor in their hands. The other human brings the gun up but Scott is already moving, biotics now flaring full force as it blinks him down the hallway. He comes out the other side within the operative’s guard, the gun outstretched uselessly past Scott’s shoulder and his blade sunk under the other human’s ribs and into their heart. It leaves him face to now uncovered face with the operative, the other human’s head gear dislodged when Scott’s barrier had blown them backwards, and Scott watches someone he knows die in his arms.

He’s frozen in shock as the body goes lax and crumbles to the ground, his blade sliding wetly out with a sound that makes him want to puke. He throws himself next to the body, next to his _friend_ , knowing that it’s too late but desperate to try anyway. He can’t find a pulse and when he brings his omnitool up it confirms that the operative is dead.

As much as Scott wants to just sit there he knows he can. As gently as he can he gathers the body up into his arms and carries him to the door of the office he needs, kicking it open without a care to the potential damage. He lays the body against the wall and quickly searches him, hoping to find an answer but there’s no apparent reason for his friend to have even been there. Everything is Alliance issued, from his gear to his weapon, and Scott knows there’s something deeper going on.

He’s running out of time between guard rotations, so instead of the breakdown he desperately in danger of having he starts looking around the office for the damn data drop. He knows it’s not worth the death of his friend but at the moment it’s all he has to focus on. He finds it just where the intel said it would be and he’s pissed off enough that he breaks every protocol for this type of mission and plugs the small data drive into his omnitool.

It’s empty. Not encrypted, not wiped, but empty. The damn thing has never even been used.

Before he can get his thoughts in order the security system goes off, the loud alarm startling him so badly he actually jumps. He looks to the body for a split second before heading out into the hallway, leaving the door open behind him. He has no way to get both himself and the body out undetected, and even as pissed as he is he needs to complete his mission, if only to get some answers. Going back to his entry point is a no go, and there’s already evidence that someone was here and the alarm is going off there’s no point in trying to find an untraceable way out. So he smashes a window out and jumps, using his biotics to slide down the side of the building without killing himself.

He stumbles as he lands, running on the last dregs of energy he has, and somehow makes it back to the alley he stashed his clothes in without being seen. Once he’s back in his civilian clothes, every inch that proclaims him a killer safely hidden by the smell of alcohol and people’s willful ignorance, does he let his mind go back to what he had just done. He had known that man from N7 training, had struck up a friendly competitiveness between them for the top of the class, had encouraged him to go after the woman that had become his wife--

He feels his gorge rise and leans over to throw up the alcohol he had been drinking not half an hour before. A group security officers cutting through the alley to get to the building see him and one mutters about drunks. Scott smiles wryly to himself and wipes his mouth. If only.

All through the rest of his 'leave' he's jittery, constantly watching people out of the corner of his eye. He desperately wants to contact his commander and demand answers but he knows it'll get him nowhere. So he grits his teeth and waits it out over the next few days, intensely aware of the empty data drive in his pocket. Once back on Arcturus he stalks down the hallway from the shuttle bay, the building anger apparent in his stride, and more than one person carefully edges around him in passing. He slams the side of his fist into the door release of his CO's office when he gets to it, then stops dead in surprise when the door opens and he realizes there’s more than just his CO in the room. The forgettable major is there, sitting in front of the desk with a small smirk, and Scott has to clamp down tight on the buzz in the back of his skull to keep his biotics from activating, but it doesn’t stop him from taking the data drive from his pocket and flinging at the major’s face.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” he snarls at the major, “Because if you think I’m stupid enough to think that was just a data retrieval mission you need to have your head examined.”

“Careful, Staff Lieutenant,” the man laughs as he catches the drive, “We wouldn’t want to be reprimanded for disrespect to a superior, now would we?”

“With all due respect, _sir_ , what the fuck is going on?” Scott knows he’s crossing the line, but the major just seems more amused as he absently roll the data drive around in his hands.

“We needed to know which operatives had what it takes to be assigned to our newest spec ops team.”

“And the other operative?”

“He didn’t make the cut.”

“Do I get a choice in this?”

“No, you don’t.”

The major brushes by him and leaves, almost sauntering, and Scott can feel his control slipping. Before he can so much as turn to go after the little asshole his CO slumps into his chair and sighs, frustratedly dragging a hand across his face. "Sit down, Ryder," he orders tiredly, "before you give them enough leverage to own your ass for the next century."

Scott makes a sound of disgust and throws himself in the chair the major had vacated. "Sounds like they do anyway, sir," he mutters, absently clenching and unclenching his fist.

“Yeah, that they do,” the other man mutters tiredly before looking Scott dead in the eye. “They pretty do much own you now, and they’ll make sure you know it. They have no problems using others as collateral if they need to. Friends, family, the damn neighbor down the street.”

“Is that what they did to you?” Scott asks as several pieces click into place. His CO had always seemed like someone who would take no one’s shit, but now he just looks defeated. The look the other man gives him in confirmation enough.

“Go get some sleep, Ryder. I’m sure they’ll let you know when they want you.”

“Yes, sir,” Scott sighs, and leaves the office. He doesn’t run into anyone he knows on the way to his room, which is a relief. He doesn’t know if he could hold onto his mask of calmness if he had to interact with people. His hip and leg ache and all he wants to do is forget that the past week had ever happened.

He’s just about to fall face first onto his bed, clothes and boots and aching hip be damned, when his omnitool comes to life and flares orange light into the dark room as it activates by itself. He blinks at it stupidly for a moment before the image solidifies into the shifting It seems smug, insomuch as a shifting image can be. "Are you willing to listen now?" it asks.

It makes him pause, finger over the end call button. Something about the way question was asked makes him suspicious. "You did this?" he demands.

"No," the images says calmly, “but I can make sure it doesn't happen again. For a price. A reasonable price."

"What price? Credits, worship, eternal servitude?" Scott snarks.

"No. Andromeda."

He's tired, bruised, and pissy. This 'benefactor' is lucky he can't reach through the omnitool and strangle whoever it is on the other end. "Oh, go fuck yourself," he huffs.

The person on the other end of the line actually laughs, amusement coming through loud and clear even if the shifting image remains expressionless, before continuing. "You're worried that they'd retaliate against you via your family, are you not? Wouldn't this be the best way to protect them?"

It's enough to set his mind spinning. Whoever this is was able to hack into secured Alliance systems, watching and listening through their security cameras. Or had perfectly legitimate access codes. Either way, this is making him more and more antsy. "My father can take care of himself, and will make anyone who looks twice at Sarah regret it. You'll have to sweeten the deal some other way."

"Your mother is alive. Your father put her into stasis before her disease actually killed her." The tone seems perhaps a bit annoyed, but Scott can't focus on why as shock builds steadily into a crashing roar in his head.

"What."

"She's on the Hyperion, pending launch, under a false name."

A heartbeat passes. Then another.

"That son of a bitch."


End file.
